Bombshells
by DoctorJekyll
Summary: Alternate ending to s7e15. This is what I think would have happened if House had followed Cuddy home. This is what I WISH would have happened.
1. Chapter 1

BOMBSHELLS

_**This is what I think should have and would have happened at the end of last week's let me know what you think. ****_

She was sobbing at the dining room table when he got there. He could see her through the window, sitting across from her sister, her face cupped in her hands. He couldn't hear her, but from the way her body was convulsing, he could tell that it was pretty intense weeping.

He pinched his lips together and hung his head, taking a deep breath. He had known tonight that this was not like the other times, the times when she had _thought_ that she'd had enough but always changed her mind.

Tonight had been different. She had dragged herself across town, with an ashen face, post-surgery, to let him go. There had been tears in her eyes. Her voice had been week, but she hadn't wavered.

He contemplated knocking. It was, after all, over between them. But, he knew Julia would come to the door, and that would be the end of all peaceful resolutions.

Slowly he slid his key inside the lock, and quietly opened the front door. He stepped inside and shut the door soft ly behind him. He stood in the foyer for a moment and he could hear Cuddy's unabashed crying. Deep long sobs that came from within. He didn't know if he had ever made a woman cry like that, and it killed him that it was Cuddy.

Cuddy, who was always so strong, firm and determined, in all her thoughts and her ideas. Cuddy, who had been willing to give him his biggest chance, It had only been a matter of months before he had broken her.

He took a deep breath and strode through the short foyer, past the living room and to the edge of the dining room. "Hey", he called out softly, not wanting to startle her, as he stood outside of the room, looking in.

She looked up and choked back another sob. "House…." She started, "what are you…?"

"Cuddy," he stepped into the room, "I needed to see you, I…."

"No," Julia planted her hand on the table. "You had your chance to see her, you had plenty of time when she needed you …._desperately_…..you don't just show up now!"

He turned around to look at her, His blue eyes deep and stormy. "Julia, stay out of this." He whispered.

"No," she continued, pushing back her chair to stand before him, "not this time. I have stayed out of this for far too long." She placed a hand softly on her sister's shoulder, "Look at her, look at what you've done to her! She needed you…and you ignored her for two whole days, until you thought she was dying, and then you showed up….high! You are a miserable…."

"Julia, stop." Cuddy's voice was strained, but firm. She placed her hand above her sisters. "Please….I,"

Julia stopped for a moment, and then looked up at House. "You don't deserve her," she whispered vehemently. Then squeezing Cuddy's hand briefly, she whispered, "I'll go check in on Rachel."

Cuddy looked up, her eyes were red and swollen from sobbing, her face was grey, "What do you want House?" she asked with a raspy voice.

He stayed rooted in one spot, "I needed to see you," he said softly, "to see if you were….okay"

Cuddy shook her head softly from side to side, "Do I look okay?" she answered.

"No," He mumbled. He actually couldn't believe how shitty she _did_ look. He had actually destroyed her. "You look like hell."

Cuddy's mouth hung open for a second before she looked at him, "get out!" she cried, as the tears started to come again. "Get out...House, I can't do this anymore." She pushed her chair back and stood up wincing, as her hand went to her side.

"Cuddy, easy." He said taking a quick step forward and placing his hand on her forearm.

"Let go." She sighed quietly, "House, please….not now." She took a step forward then winced again, her hand rising to her side again.

"Cuddy, "he reached out with his other arm and steadied her gently, "I'm not going anywhere, until I know that you're okay." His eyes met hers, and his brow furrowed.

"House," she cried out, her eyes filling with tears again as she pushed away from him. "Yes, I'm in pain, I just had surgery…" she broke down again, "just go."

"Hey, "he whispered, taking a step towards her again, "calm down. I just….let me get you settled down." He reached a hand out and placed it on her cheek, "you feel warm Cuddy, you look…..grey."

"I've been crying for the past hour!" she cried out again, "of course I'm warm."

"Or it could be a fever, infection….overexertion…torn stitches, internal…."

"Internal nothing," she cut him off, "Forty-eight hours ago you could have cared less, now you're making up …."

"I did care." He cut her off. "I did care, I was just…scared. Cuddy, I didn't want to lose you." He looked up and met her swollen, red rimmed eyes. "Let me get you to your room, and I'll go."

"House," she started.

"Come on," he said softly, not giving her the chance to resist, as he took her hands and guided her down the hallway.

****Sorry so short, but I am fishing for interest. Should I go on ?****


	2. Chapter 2

Bombshells 2

_***Thanks so much for all the great reviews. I'm gonna give this a try. Been out of the loop for a while. For those who think he was too OOC, tried to change that, but…he's been kinda OOC all season. *****_

He was sitting in the dark in the living room, a drink in his hand, a bottle before him, when Julia walked in. He could tell by the way she jumped a little that he had startled her.

"Why are you still here?" She asked coldly, as she leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb.

"She has a fever," he started. "She should be monitored tonight."

"Are you monitoring her from out here?" she snapped. "In between drinks?"

"She doesn't want me in there." He responded, rubbing his fingers on his temples.

"I don't blame her." Julia snapped.

He looked up and stared at her, his eyes narrowing as he searched what he could see of her face in the darkened room. Slowly he picked up the glass and poured what was left of the amber liquid down his throat.

"I know you hate me." He said curtly, "You've made that clear, but Cuddy is running a fever, slight as it may be, post-surgery, there is a chance that it could be infection."

"I'll monitor her." She said, folding her arms across her chest. "She doesn't want you here."

He reached for the bottle on the coffee table and poured himself a re-fill. "She doesn't need to know I'm here." He said flatly.

"I know you're here." She answered as she pushed herself from the frame. "And I don't want you here either. You need to pack up your whiskey, or bourbon, or whatever you're drinking and go." She walked towards him and sat on the arm of the couch across from him.

"My sister dragged herself out of this house to come over to your place and break up with you. Apparently, it couldn't wait untill morning. She came home, and spent over an hour sobbing…sobbing at the dining room table, and I sat there watching her come undone in a way I've never seen in forty-two years." She reached over and placed a hand on his knee. "I don't even want to try and understand the relationship that you two had…..all I know is that Lisa needs you to be out of her home and out of her life right now." She squeezed his knee softly, and shut her eyes for a moment, before opening them and fixing them on his, "Please go."

It was certain. He knew now, for sure. There would be no fighting, no back and forth. Even Julia had been worn down to the marrow.

He stood, letting her hand slide off his knee.

"She took two ibuprofen about 30 minutes ago, her fever should go down." He reached for his coat and shrugged it on. "If it doesn't call me."

"If it doesn't, I'll bring her in." She said getting up and walking him to the front door.

There would be no bullshit. No lying, no letting him hear what he wanted to hear. There wouldn't even be a phone call .

Without saying goodbye he walked out the door.

Back in his apartment. Back in his bathroom. Back to where it had all started. Standing there in the dark. Destroyed. His heart shredded to pieces by her harsh words. His insides flipped inside out by Hanna's death. He opened the cabinet and fished out the bottle of Vicodin. It wasn't hidden behind a hole in the wall anymore.

One pill, that one fucking pill he had to take to face seeing her. He opened up the bottle and poured out one, then two, then three.

He held them in his hand and looked in the mirror. His eyes just staring in his eyes. So this was it, he thought. This was pain. The huge immeasurable burning pain he felt inside his chest, inside his head, behind his eyes….this was it. This was why he couldn't go to her, face her, open up to her, and tell her he loved her more. He was scared of this. No wonder….it hurt like hell.

His eyes were burning. He looked into his hand. The three white pills neatly nestled in there.

He thought of that night. Hearing her sneakers, softly padding on his bathroom floor. He had been sure it had been Wilson. He thought of how he had felt, grateful, and embarrassed that it had been her. He had been wrecked. And she would know for sure now how he felt about her.

Then stunned, to hear her say those words. "I'm in love with you House." In love. In love with him.

He thought of that kiss. Slow and soft and tender. He hadn't ever waited that long for a kiss. He hadn't ever wanted someone so badly.

And then it had happened. After so much wanting, and yearning, and hiding, and denying. After addiction, after re-hab, after insanity, after an institution, after humiliation and pain and rejection. After all of that she had stood before him, she had peeled his shirt off and run her hands down his chest.

He closed his eyes now remembering the way his heart had pounded, and his brain had stopped when she had un-snapped his jeans. His breath, almost stopping in his lungs as she had run her fingers over his scar, pressed her lips onto the marred skin. "I love you", she had told him again.

And then they had been in his bed. And it had been real this time, real. Not the musings of a drug addled brain. He had run his hand up and down her silky delicious skin. He had kissed her, and tasted her, and made love to her over and over that night.

And he hadn't been hiding or denying or deflecting. In that one night on that bed he had felt more alive than he had in the past seven years.

Ahhhh fuck. Then everything had come slowly creeping in. He was House after all. She was Cuddy. Bitchy, pushy, demanding Cuddy. She would want more, she always wanted more.

And he wanted less, less of the emotions, less of the need.

And now, here he was. He had less. He had none. He was back to where he had started. But she wouldn't come padding in this time. And neither would Wilson.

This was it. Back to his life. Alone. The pills. So much he had thrown away for those stupid fucking pills. He thought he needed them to face her ? He needed them to face himself.

He opened his mouth and flung all three of them down his throat, and in one bitter gulp swallowed them all.

All Cuddy had wanted was him. Messed up, screwed up, Greg House. That's all she had wanted. But he couldn't fucking deliver.

He took one step back. Then stared at the mirror long and hard. His eyes were getting red. He squinted. They were filling with tears. Was he crying? He should be crying. He had lost it all.

He shook his head. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. Not so much that she had left him… but that she had ever even been with him in the first place.

Slowly he made a fist and took another step back. Then with all of his strength he lunged forward and punched the reflection of his face in the mirror.

"You fucking asshole!" he screamed as he punched the shards of splintered glass again and again, until there was nothing left but a lopsided cabinet, hanging off one screw.

He leaned against the wall, panting. His hand hung at his side, stinging and dripping. He felt his breaths start to hitch in the middle. One fucking hitch after another. Slowly he let himself slide to sitting. So this is it, he thought, this is the bottom. It's not being chained to a bed like a fucking dog, writhing in pain as you detox, it's not losing a chunk out of your leg, it's not losing Stacy, or losing your mind…..it's this. It's falling back down into the depths after so many years of trying to climb out. It's losing Cuddy.

It's watching her sitting at a table crying hysterically because she knows that even though she loves you, you're not fucking worth it. You never were, and you never will be.

_****A little harsh I know, but…I think that's what he'd feel. Review. PING PING !******_


	3. Chapter 3

Bombshells 3

_***Thanks guys, great reviews. This is the morning after.******_

He woke up to the sound of steady buzzing from his phone. At some point during the night he had staggered from the bathroom floor to the living room and passed out on the couch. His hand was wrapped up in a bloody towel and lying on his chest. It hurt like hell, but so did the hole in his heart, and come to think of it the hole in his leg.

Slowly he made it to sitting position and his phone started again. He reached out with his good hand and hit the silencer, before running the same hand through his hair. He used his left hand and unwrapped the towel from his right hand that sat on his lap. "Damn," he thought, "should have taken time to get some of the glass out." His hand was swollen and bruised, the first three knuckles were split open, the skin macerated with long jagged cuts filled with slivers of shimmering glass.

His phone buzzed again, and he grabbed at it with his good hand knowing it was Wilson, and threw it across the room. Fuck him. He had told him he wouldn't be around to pick up the pieces, so….

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "A mere 24 hours ago" he started, but then thought better than to start down that road so early in the morning. He rubbed his face again and then reached for the bottle of Vicodin that was on the coffee table before him. Damn, he had thought that he would be able to control himself a little bit better. But, come to think of it, this was the worst possible time to consider giving up the pills. His hand was killing him, his head was killing him….and he didn't even want to think about what was happening to his heart. After last night, he decided it would be a very long time until he let any of those feelings out again.

He struggled with one hand and his mouth to pry the lid off the pills. He popped one, and then another for good measure. He swallowed them dry and almost gagged. Were they always so bitter? He pushed himself up and cursed aloud. His hand hurt like a bitch, and he wouldn't be able to hold his cane with it. No matter, he didn't even know where his cane was.

Slowly, painfully, he made it to the bathroom. He froze at the sight of the shattered mirror on the floor. The last time his bathroom had been covered in glass things had turned out quite differently. Everything came tumbling into his mind and he had to press his teeth together, and shut his eyes to keep from feeling too much. He turned on the sink and splashed water on his face. He reached his hand under the stream of running water, and the force of it brought tears to his eyes and opened up some of the crusted over pulverized flesh of his hand. "Ahhhh!" he screamed. "Shit!" He pulled his hand back out and looked at it. He couldn't fix this, not with running water and a wash cloth…and one left hand.

He wrapped it back up with a clean towel and limped into his bedroom. He could hear the cell phone vibrating against his hardwood floors somewhere in the living room and he sat on the edge of the bed. How many times had he made love to Cuddy on this bed? Fuck – he lay back against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"House! House !" He woke up again to someone calling his name. It was Wilson. He was walking through the apartment screaming his name. Living room, hallway…."Jesus! House" that must be him hitting the bathroom. And then he was in his room, "House?" He called out running towards the bed, reaching for his pulse.

"Stop, Wilson" House croaked out. "I'm fine. I'm good."

"What are you doing?" He asked "What the hell happened in your bathroom…what happened to your hand?"

"Uhhh" House answered, "the bathroom mirror happened to my hand."

"Jesus House," Wilson began, "How many pills did you take?"

House looked up and gave him a lopsided grin "When?"

"That many huh?" Wilson stood facing him with his hands on his hips. "I talked to Cuddy," he said "how long have you been using again?"

House inhaled deeply. "I'm not using. Jesus… I wasn't using…. I took one lousy pill to go see her and…."

"And one pill led to two, three?" Wilson shook his head, "She told me she broke up with you, but… Jesus House…."

"She told you huh?" House pushed himself up to sitting position with his good hand. "Wow, news travels fast."

Wilson sat beside him on the bed. "No, it's not news….Julia brought her in this morning." He turned to look at House to gage his reaction, "she has a fever, which you knew about… and when I went to check on her and didn't see you there….she….she ….let me know what happened. I'm sorry."

"How is she?" House asked quietly without turning to face his friend.

"She's fine. She's on Vancomycin….ibuprofen, her fever's gone down, her white count's slightly elevated, and her incision site is irritated. It's pretty basic post-op but…."

House turned and stared Wilson dead in the eyes, "How is she?" He asked again.

"She's a train wreck House. She's hiding it behind the medical complications but she's…. about as bad as you." He looked at his friend, and reached across to his lap. "Can I take a look at that hand?" he asked.

House nodded and Wilson slowly unwrapped the towel, a few of the towel fibers had dried to the wound and House hissed I pain as Wilson pulled it free. "Wow," He exclaimed softly, "I'de say that mirror did a number on your hand House. You have to have that looked at."

"Aren't you a doctor?" House asked with a smirk.

"You are going to need x-rays and stitches and…." He leaned forward and glanced more closely at the wound "and some serious antiseptic lavage. Jesus House this thing is still full of glass."

"Yeah well," House inhaled deeply and pushed himself up to standing, I had other things on my mind last night….besides, and I'm not too good with my left hand."

He limped over to his closet and pulled out a duffel bag. "Be a pal Wilson," he said as he tossed it on the bed, "help me fill this with some things. This place is full of way too many memories."

_****Next chapter is at PPTH. Will they run into each other ? REVIEW…please !******_


	4. Chapter 4

***_OK guys, sorry about the wait. I actually had chapters 4 and 5 all done a while back, and in attempt to organize my files deleted them ! I was so annoyed I figured I would let this story go. But, I did het a trickle of alerts and reviews, so I thought I'd give it a go again. Amazingly, this is totally different than the original version. Lets see where it goes….._

Bombshells 4

It had taken Chase and Masters an eternity to deal with his hand. Or at least that's what House thought. The only useful one was Chase. He pulled up a chair, and with the help of a light and a large magnifier began pulling bits of glass out of House's hand. Masters just stood by; she went back and forth between looking like she was going to cry, and looking shocked.

Every once in a while House would punch the tray with his good hand and scream, "take it easy you son of a bitch."

Despite the topical anesthetic, he still felt the digging, and his nerves were just as frayed as the flesh of his skin. Chase looked up briefly, before lowering his head, and silently getting back to work.

"Jesus!" House growled, staring at Masters next. "Can't you make yourself useful? Stop just standing there with those weepy eyes!"

"I can go and get an orthopedic doctor to look at it," Masters chimed in nervously, "or…or Cuddy?"

Hose slammed his hand on the tray again and Chase got up and taking Masters by the elbow pulled her quickly out of the room.

"Look," he said, "we're not going to get anyone other than the team to look at it, ok? I mean he's still completely high, how the hell would that look? So just….keep quiet and for Christ's sake don't mention Cuddy…and don't mention this _to_ Cuddy." He paused and then added "Just go find Taube and Forman ok."

In the end they had managed to get House to cooperate a little. Foreman had given him an IV, with enough fluids to start flushing out the alcohol and narcotics. They had x-rayed his hand, and splinted two large fractures. Though the flesh around the knuckles had been completely macerated, all the tendons and muscles had remained intact. And then they had called in Taube to do the stitching.

"Wow," he exclaimed softly as he sat with a large light and magnifier strapped to his forehead. "This is going to be like sewing hamburger."

At this Masters put a hand up to her mouth and let out a quiet sob.

Finally with his hand, splinted and cleaned and hanging from a sling around his neck. Chase had set him up with a clean shirt, non-narcotic pain meds, and a cup of strong coffee. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "she's in room 228 mate" before patting him once firmly on the shoulder.

The room was dark and House could see that she was asleep when he cracked the door. Though she was still pale and haggard looking, she looked better. There was at least a slight tint of color on her cheeks. Her dark curls were fanned out across the pillow, and he could hear her soft steady breathing. He loved the way she looked when she slept. No makeup, no sly smile, or sharp retort. Besides, it was the only time when he truly believed that she was his.

He limped quietly across the room and pulled her chart. Sitting in a chair besides the bed, he rested it on his lap and began leafing through it with his one good hand.

The limping woke her. The awkward heavy gate. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. She saw him sitting across from her and for a moment she began to smile, then she remembered. It was over. Why did he have to be such an unreliable bastard she thought as tears started once again forming in her eyes? Would she ever stop loving him she wondered?

"Hey" he whispered, looking up from her chart.

"Hey," she answered.

"Fever's down, you're resting." He paused for a minute, before flipping the chart shut. "You look better."

"You on the other hand," she said softly "look like hell." She stared at his hand for a moment before adding "rough night?"

He shrugged, "About the same as yours I imagine."

She shook her head and shut her eyes, a vain attempt at keeping the tears that were trying to escape . "I didn't end up in a bar fight."

He smirked to himself, no matter what; she was programmed to think the worst of him. "I didn't either." He answered softly. "I had an ….altercation."

"An altercation?" she opened her eyes, the soft grey, rimmed in red still held some worry. "What kind of altercation?"

He looked away for a moment before fixing his eyes on hers again. "Bathroom mirror." He mumbled.

Part of him hoped she would remember the night she had found him among the shattered glass, and part of him realized how hopeless and pathetic he sounded; back at that mirror, hoping once again to be saved. But last night the only saviors that had come his way had been pills and booze.

"Oh House!" She sighed, shutting her eyes once again, as the tears started to come.

"If you think I look bad," he said with a slight chuckle, "You should get a load of the mirror."

"How bad is it?" She whispered. She didn't want to care about him. About his hand, about his anger, about his everything. She didn't want to care about him anymore.

"It's fine." He shrugged.

"Is that why it's in a splint?" She asked wearily. "House you're a doctor…your hand is one of your most important assets."

"My mind is my most important asset." He answered sharply. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her in blame.

"Then why did you…." She started.

"Take a pill? Drink? Smash the mirror to bits with my fist? "He took a deep breath and looked at her, before leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling.

They were both silent for a few minutes. She could hear his breathing, as it grew soft and slow and steady and for a moment, she actually thought that he had fallen asleep. She knew that breaking up with him would have repercussions; she just had not expected him to come unraveled so fast.

He didn't know what to say. He had made a mistake. He had been playing games until the last possible moment. Self-preservation had kicked in. But Cuddy, Cuddy needed more, she wanted more, she deserved more…she WAS more.

"Cuddy," he started, bringing his head up so he could look at her. "I should have been there sooner, I know that."

She shook her head; he didn't get it at all. He never would. "You weren't there at all." She said.

And with those final words, she broke what was left of his heart in two. Silently he got up and walked out of her room without looking back.

*****Reviews keep me going !


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry it took so long folks. The poor writing on the show makes me feel like I'm writing about strangers this season. Cuddy has been a robot for the past two seasons….House would never let her go without a fight._

Bombshells 5

Wilson came in a couple of hours later. He had knocked gently and cracked the door. Cuddy was awake, lying in bed in the darkened room. She raised her hand and signaled for him to come in.

"How are you doing?" He asked quietly as he walked across the room to her bedside.

"Better, fevers down and…I …I'm fine." Cuddy felt a lump forming in her throat. She shook her head quietly. "He's using again Wilson. He smashed his hand, and…"

Wilson nodded. "I know…I found him at his place this morning .He's a wreck."

She nodded slowly. And raised a hand running it through her long dark curls. "I know you blame me." She said quietly.

He shook his head and raised his hands up, "I don't blame you Cuddy. Jesus, I know he's an ass…but… he loves you. You know that."

"I do, "she started and paused for a moment, pressing her eyes shut. "I do know he loves me, but it's not enough. I should have never…."

"Stop, Cuddy stop!" He held a hand up to stop her and took a step closer to her bed. "Don't say "you should have never'. This year was the happiest I've ever seen House," he pause for a moment, "Or you for that matter."

"He's never going to change," she said shaking her head. "He can't change…he doesn't want to."

Wilson looked at her and his eyes widened in disbelief. "He _has_ changed. Can't you see that Cuddy?" He shook his head, "He's changed so much in the past year. I mean he's still House, but he's trying."

She rested her head in her hands. "I just don't think it's enough."

Wilson shrugged; he walked over and rested his hand on her shoulder rubbing it softly. "He loves you Cuddy. And I think he's trying as hard as he can. Whether that's enough, is up to you."

It was early evening when Cuddy was finally discharged. They had wanted her to be twelve hours fever free, and she had almost hit the mark before pulling rank, and getting herself off a few hours early.

Wilson had come back in to make sure she was okay and able to drive home. "I'm fine." She had insisted, "I am 48 hours passed a minor biopsy Wilson."

"A minor biopsy, a fever, and….a broken heart." He had added with a crooked smile.

"Well," she had shrugged. "They aren't going to be able to fix that here."

"Maybe House can." He mentioned softly. "At least talk to him. He's upstairs."

She found him in his office. The lights were dimmed and he was sitting on his lounger with his legs up on the ottoman. The red ball in his left hand.

He had seen her peeking into his conference room, then followed her tentative steps towards his office. She was dressed now; yoga pants and a cream colored sweater. Her hair was in a ponytail. She had probably discharged herself. She looked better, still a little ragged.

"Hi," she said softly as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

He didn't answer. Just stared at the ball.

"I know I was harsh," she started, "I didn't want…."

He looked at her. "I took one pill. One fucking pill and you tossed everything in the garbage. You expect me to not be mad?"

"House, it's not about the pill. The one pill. It's about you not being there for me." She raised her voice incrementally. "You ignored me until you thought I was going to die! I needed you! But it's all about you, about proving a point, about not giving in."

"I didn't think it was anything serious," he whispered. "I made a mistake."

"Well, I Know, but I need someone who is there for me. A hundred percent of the time, not when they feel like it…or when they think…that I'm going to die. " She stopped for a moment and looked at him. "I'm sorry House, I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I hurt myself…but I can't do this anymore. It's not fair to me." With that she turned around and started heading towards the door.

"What about when I needed you?" His voice broke the silence. "You don't think I needed you when I was in Mayfield?"

She turned on her heel. "House don't….don't …"

"Don't what?" He asked taking his legs off the ottoman and sitting himself up with his one good hand. "You don't think I needed you when I was in a fucking nut house? I mean Jesus; I went there because I hallucinated you after all. You caring for me….loving me…"

"House," Cuddy started, "I didn't even know…"

"Oh bullshit," he cut her off and stood up. "You knew, you knew everything and you had a good laugh about it while you were screwing Lucas. You don't think I needed you then? Coming back here and having to face you after weeks inside that place, where all I did was flip the same fucking worn out thoughts over and over in my own mind. Wondering why you never called, or visited…not one fucking time!"

Cuddy's mouth hung open, she was stunned and stung. hurt by his bitter harsh words. She had no idea how to feel or to react. She had never known how deeply he had felt about these issues. It was he who had chosen to never, ever talk about her year with Lucas.

"I didn't…I didn't mean that I didn't know," she began, her voice shaking ever so slightly, "I meant that I didn't know you wanted me to visit, I didn't know how you felt, "

He limped towards her without his cane and stopped inches before her. "You knew when I came back. You knew exactly how I felt about you. You knew, and you played me until there was no way you could hide that fucking asshole from me for a minute longer so don't act like you didn't know." He stopped and stared into her shocked green eyes before lowering his voice and nodding slightly, "And don't act like I've never been in the receiving end of getting hurt, because it's not true."

"I…I….House, I never meant to hurt you." She stammered, reaching out to grasp his forearm. "I was terrified House, terrified…you lost your mind, and the drugs…no one knew what to expect. And Lucas," she pause and looked away. "Things just happened."

"I know" he mumbled, "Things just happen to me all the time. I never meant to hurt you Cuddy. I thought you were dying. I took the pill because I couldn't face that. I couldn't face the pain….I couldn't…" He laughed softly, "The Vicodin is more of a crutch for me than that damn cane. I couldn't face losing you without it….and…" he laughed again "I lost you because of it."

"I'm sorry." She whispered her eyes filling with tears as she reached out a hand and cupped his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

He nodded slowly. "I never even had a chance did I?" –

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